Eden's Embers

by Helena Maeve

  With a little luck, Gideon or one of his minions would’ve stepped in and taken her aside to consult as to the source of her unbridled aggression—not to punish her, but to praise her for tapping into her inner beast. Her godliness.

  When Jackson had explained the strength of Gideon’s conviction, Alana had nearly asked if he happened to be kin to a man named Krall.

  “That’s what he calls it,” Leona said, sneering. “Like something out of myth. The next step is telling the poor fools who go round the bend that what they see and hear are really the gods speaking to them from the heavens. By the time they start believing, they’ve become dictatorial time bombs.”

  And just like any time bomb, Gideon’s unfortunate demigods were only viable for a limited time before they went boom.

  Alana sank her shaking hands into soapy suds, enjoying the burn of hot water against her weary joints. She hadn’t asked why Jackson and Leona still followed Gideon’s orders if he was so deluded, why the rest of Haven put up with his leadership at all rather than simply dismiss him for a senile old fool. She already knew the answer.

  Finn had spelled it out for her—we have nowhere else to go. It was just as true for Alana, but she had only just escaped one prison when New Eden went under. She had no desire to become trapped in another.

  “We’ve all drunk the water,” Alana had pointed out as Jackson was leading her back toward the deep descent into the city. “Does that mean we’re all at risk?”

  He had kissed her brow in lieu of answer, but Alana understood.

  The shrill, foghorn blast through wall-mounted speakers called an end to the ninety-minute shift. Alana pushed back her stool and hung the freshly rinsed linen on the clothes lines. Another citizen of Haven had already claimed her place when she’d finished. There was no need for an overseer to bark orders. The city functioned like a perfectly oiled machine, not a squeaky wheel in sight, and no one noticed Alana slip away when she should’ve been making her way to the kitchens for her rotation.

  Alana took off down the stairs toward the private quarters.

  Maity’s room was not far from Jackson’s and just like his, it, didn’t have a door. Alana approached it with trepidation, determined to walk past with the throng of people moving back and forth between rotations like she had done yesterday. To catch a glimpse of Finn would be enough.

  She wasn’t supposed to stop, not even if he happened to be alone.

  “You’ll be taking too big a risk,” Jackson had said, but Jackson wasn’t there, faced with the sight of Finn sitting with his good wrist handcuffed to a rusty old pipe.

  “Finn!” Alana hissed, aborting her steps in the doorway.

  People brushed past her carelessly, either indifferent or very astutely pretending they couldn’t see her blocking the narrow passage.

  At least Finn looked up when he saw her. “Hey…” His eyes were red and glassy. He didn’t look as though he’d gotten much sleep in the past hours. He wasn’t the only one.

  Alana weighed the risks and stepped through the bead curtain before she could think better of it. So much for being sensible. “How are you doing?”

  “Arm hurts,” he slurred. “But it’s not so bad.”

  “We’re getting you out of here.” Alana cupped his cheeks. “Finn, listen to me. We’re getting you out. Tonight. I need you to stay awake.” Had Maity given him something to muddle his thoughts? It would’ve been the kind of thing someone like her might consider kindness, but considering that she’d started out by beating Finn to a pulp, it didn’t do much to endear her to Alana. “Can you do that for me?”

  Finn tilted his head back against the wall. “Sure thing.”

  His shit-eating grin was painfully at odds with the bruises blooming on his cheek and brow. Alana knew he was merely telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. “I’m so sorry.” She sighed and pressed a hand over his mouth. With the other, she gave his broken wrist a sharp flick—innocuous if the limb had been healthy but agonizing in Finn’s condition.

  He howled with pain, the sound barely muffled against Alana’s palm. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” His breath gusted warm against the heel of her hand, but it was his flinty, betrayed moue that really struck her.

  Finn glared, shaking his head. He spat when she released him. “What did you do that for? Fuck—”

  “Leona wants you awake. This is important. Are you with me, Finn?”

  He looked more like he wanted to return the favor by breaking her wrist, but he nodded firmly. “You should go. She only went to take a piss.” No use clarifying who she was.

  Alana didn’t need to be told twice. “Hang in there,” she said and bolted.

  “Very funny,” Finn snorted in her wake. “Hey, you know there’s plaster dust all over the back of your shirt?”

  Alana was already halfway to the door when his parting volley registered. “What?”

  “Plaster dust,” Finn repeated, as though she was slow. “The kind you get from rubbing up against concrete…” It was his turn to trail off. ”Has anyone seen you?”

  Not just anyone. Alana felt her stomach sink like a stone. Siggy.

  * * * *

  “How is he?” Jackson asked over the harsh pounding of the spray.

  Alana had heard him come in, thanks to Leona’s warning whistle, but she still found herself warring with instinctive unease when he came into view. Sharing her bath time with another man would’ve been beyond unseemly back in New Eden. Now it wasn’t modesty that had her covering herself, but the thought of her restless desire claiming even a moment of their time. It was already running short.

  Over Jackson’s shoulder, she caught sight of Leona’s smirk. To her credit, she didn’t linger to watch, though something told Alana that she wouldn’t go far. She had taken advantage of every moment she had with Finn when they were trawling through the badlands, undeterred by the absence of a soft bed or comfortable shelter, untroubled by their proximity to Jackson and Alana. Would she judge them for this?

  Jackson stopped a good two feet away, within Alana’s reach but not so close that she would feel cornered. If anyone happened upon them, they’d simply assume Jackson couldn’t keep it in his pants.

  “He’s fine,” Alana said, trying to focus her thoughts. “Or as fine as he can be with a broken wrist. Maity has him cuffed, so getting him free may be tricky. But I think we may also have another problem. Siggy had guard duty when I came in…”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “The usual snooty nonsense,” Alana replied, waving that aside. She wasn’t half as worried about Siggy’s split tongue as she was about what she might have seen. “There was plaster dust on my clothes. Finn noticed after I did my shift in the laundry room.”

  Jackson’s expression betrayed nothing. “It doesn’t mean anything. They’ll assume you and I made the most of my lunch break, that’s all.”

  “You think so?” She wanted to believe him, but while the vast majority of people in Haven wouldn’t give a second thought to the state of a thrall’s clothes, Siggy was cut from a different cloth. Suppose she tells her father, Alana had told Leona. Suppose they have eyes on us.

  You’re like Finn, you read too much had been Leona’s answer. She’d wanted to know everything Alana could tell her about Finn, but little else seemed to matter to her.

  Alana couldn’t help but worry that an excess of confidence could be their downfall. Twenty-five hours ago, there had been no plan. She hadn’t even known they were preparing their desertion. Now they were counting down to the moment they brought the deluge to Haven.

  “Are we ready?” Alana asked, dreading the answer.

  “Ophelyn’s keeping an eye on the gear. We’ve lit a few fires. Should be enough to get us noticed.”

  “Should?” Alana croaked.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “You need to stop asking me that when I’m already worried. It’s doing nothing for my blood pressure.”

  “Maybe this will,” Ja
ckson said and cupped her cheek in a warm palm. He kissed her softly, merely a brush of lips against Alana’s, but it was enough to have her swaying forward.

  “I’m getting you all wet,” she protested, but it was a weak defense, easily set aside as Jackson stripped off his shirt and trousers and kicked off his boots. “You’re right,” Alana echoed, stumbling back into the shower stall. “Wet is good.”

  His lips were a hot, searing brad against her neck and she couldn’t choke back a moan when he bit down into the sensitive skin, knowing it would melt her to the core. Alana folded a hand into his hair, the other scrabbling for purchase on the slippery wall.

  If this was the last time she had him, she wanted to make it count. We could be dead tomorrow. The thought slithered in like a thorn and was no more pleasant to swallow down. Alana could only do so much to ignore it when Jackson’s reverent touch told her he was just as fearful of the path they had embarked upon.

  “We’ll be all right,” Alana breathed against his lips. “I promise. We’ll be all right, whatever happens.”

  Jackson hitched her legs up around his thighs, his silky, hard cock brushing tantalizingly against her pussy. Water pooled in the crevices of his collarbones, sluicing down his chest in rivulets that Alana tried and failed to catch with her tongue.

  She winced when he pressed a finger into her wet folds, jerking in his arms as though burned, and Jackson stilled. “Sore?”

  “A little,” Alana confessed. “But I can take it…” If this is the last time. She had seen enough bodies in New Eden. She needed Jackson to pull through.

  “We’ll do it like this,” Jackson said, and arranged them so that his length was nestled against her slick curls without actively pressing in.

  Alana nodded fiercely. She was willing and eager. Whichever way she could have Jackson would do.

  All it really took was the swipe of his calloused palms over her skin and she was putty in his hands. Dimly, she noticed her moans echoing off the tile, more broken than enticing, and made to muffle her cries into the shelf of his shoulder.

  “No,” Jackson bit out, his voice husky with want. “Let me hear you.” He was rocking into her, slow and careful, his thick cock impossibly stiff between her thighs.

  “W-what do you want me to say?” Alana gasped, canting back to watch his stormy eyes.

  He was silent for a moment, just rolling his hips with great care, as if testing the waters with each thrust. “Tell me you like it.”

  Alana felt a fist seize around her heart, inner muscles clenching around thin air. “I like it,” she breathed. She’d taken his orders before and she had taunted him into giving her what she wanted between the sheets, but this was different. He was pleading. “I like it,” Alana repeated, squeezing him to her chest as though he would fly away if she didn’t anchor him to the ground.

  They both pretended not to hear his sobbing inhales as he found his release, spilling warm against Alana’s belly and the tile wall. The shower washed away the evidence. Some things were too private for commentary.

  At length, Jackson set her down, his expression wary. “You didn’t—”

  “You can make it up to me next time,” Alana shot back, intentionally flippant. For all they knew, there wouldn’t be a next time.

  Maybe, Alana mused with too little conviction, it will serve as added incentive. She shivered as Jackson kissed her. It couldn’t be helped. The shower water had already run cold.

  * * * *

  The city was stirring again, drawn in droves to the cavern where Alana had been claimed. She didn’t know it, at first, but the tone in which Jackson said as much confirmed her fears.

  “Finn?” she murmured, tipping against his side.

  Jackson gave a minute nod, his scowl resolutely in place. He didn’t reach for her hand, though Alana wouldn’t have refused the firm clasp of his fingers. Just as they were passing through the wide slit of the open doorway, she brushed the backs of her knuckles against his bare forearm in an attempt to remind him that she was right there beside him. That he wasn’t alone.

  It wasn’t what they’d planned for, but maybe they could profit from Maity’s ambition. At least it meant that most drifters and their thralls would be distracted, that Finn would be free from his bonds.

  Alana scanned the vast room for sign of Siggy, but there were too many people in the assembly and she could only gawk for so long before Gideon called for silence. Jackson had brushed her cares aside, but what if he was wrong? Doubt niggled at the back of her mind, as hard to shake as a persistent migraine.

  Gradually, the unruly mob fell quiet.

  “Sister Maity comes before us to claim her first thrall,” old Gideon said thickly. Alana wondered how old he really was. His walking stick scraped the ground as he took position before the hemicycle. The women who flanked him had taken to stirring life into the small bonfire that had previously consumed Alana’s clothes.

  The memory ate at her. Yes, Jackson had been there to lay his hands on her and take her under his protection, but that had come later. First was the fear, lingering even now as she watched Maity step forward. Pride was etched onto her features.

  “Sister Maity is very dear to us,” Gideon went on, taking her hands in his wrinkled clutches. “As such, we shall forgo the usual trial and grant her this prize…” He smiled, thin lips peeling back to reveal the sharp points of his teeth. “For such is the will of the gods. Bring forth the thrall!”

  It was sickening to watch. Alana felt her insides churn with the vivid knowledge of what it meant to be herded into the hall by Gideon’s haughty daughter as Finn was marched into the room. He was holding his wrist close to his chest, like a broken wing. Indignation sparked in Alana’s chest, joining that pervasive sense of dread in a powerful, intoxicating cocktail. This wasn’t right.

  “We can’t let this happen,” she hissed, digging her nails into Jackson’s thigh.

  He shushed her, but his attention was elsewhere. Alana tracked his gaze to a familiar blonde head. Leona had sat two rows down, slightly to the side. Her unreadable gaze was firmly trained on the stage as Gideon released Maity’s hands and recovered his seat. Only Finn and his presumptive mistress were left standing by the crackling bonfire—and Finn took a hasty, aborted step back as she advanced on him.

  There was nowhere to run to, not with Siggy blocking his exit and the whole population of Haven witnessing his turmoil with blank, impassive faces.

  Alana watched Maity’s lips move, but whatever she said was too low to carry into the assembly. By the expression on Finn’s face, though, it was enough to make his eyes widen and his jaw go slack.

  “Yeah, this isn’t going to work for me.” Leona pitched her voice loudly enough to be heard as she climbed to her feet. “Will of the gods or not, that’s my thrall.”

  “Damn it,” Jackson hissed as a murmur of surprise and excitement hummed through the crowd. Alana though of John Laus potato battery and how the current had seemed to vibrate when she’d scraped her tongue against the metal prongs.

  Below, Gideon staggered to his feet. “The time for objections is past. Now we must—”

  “Then I challenge Sister Maity to prove she is worthy,” Leona shot back, undeterred. Around her, the whispers grew like a swelling wave. “If the gods have truly chosen her for their messenger, she should have no trouble besting me. But if they have not…”

  Maity barked a laugh. “I’ll wear your skin for a cloak.”

  “Challenge accepted, then?” That was all the encouragement Leona needed to descend from her perch with careless, thumping steps, grabbing her braids with both hands and knotting them in a messy twist at her nape. “Good, I’ve been itching for a decent fight.”

  “Should we stop this?” Alana whispered in Jackson’s ear.

  He shrugged. “How? When Leona gets something into her head, it’s nigh impossible to make her see sense.” And even supposing they got through to her, what about Maity? There was a murderous glint in her eye that snuf
fed out Alana’s hopes. Beside her, Jackson sighed. “We don’t have much time.”

  Leona was aware of the plan. She knew they were on a deadline, that they needed to make their way out of the city within the next half hour if they were to have any chance of surviving what was coming. Seeing Leona free a dagger from her boot, Alana didn’t put much faith in her remembering anything beyond an instinctive need to defend her property.

  But Leona wasn’t the only one to reach for a blade. Maity had one too. It looked a lot like Finn’s. Alana forced herself not to think of the poetic justice of killing Leona with the same bone-hilt dagger Finn had used to threaten Maity. They needed Leona and they couldn’t leave Finn. There was only one possible outcome that wouldn’t throw their plans into disarray.

  “She’s a good fighter, right?” Alana asked. “She has a chance?”

  She didn’t expect an answer, but Jackson shook his head. “Mai is better,” he said, a far cry from comforting.

  It wasn’t hard to see why that might be. Leona was thin and wiry, with small hips and narrow shoulders. Her bushy hair was the widest point on her body. By contrast, Maity had biceps the size of tree trunks. Alana remembered her in the laundry room, scrubbing like a woman possessed and barely breaking a sweat. It was one thing for Leona to best a defenseless preacher, quite another to take on a woman who had trained for war.

  The two women circled each other like hawks, stretching out the audience’s patience like an elastic band about to snap. When it did, it was with Maity slashing at Leona’s throat—too close for comfort, but too far to draw blood. Leona cheated to the right, dipping into a crouch, and swiped the back of her heel into Maity’s shin.

  The trick would’ve brought someone like Alana down to her knees sure as fire was hot, but Maity was made of sterner stuff. She caught Leona’s ankle and tugged, throwing her opponent off balance with a brutal tug.